Leather and Lace
by MaverickLover2
Summary: Bart wants to go to Wichita to buy a Morgan horse, and Doralice insists on going with him. Through Indian Territory and back, not as quickly as hoped for. This story contains some disturbing content.
1. I'll Love You Forever

Leather and Lace

Chapter 1 – I'll Love You Forever

I hadn't really wanted to go to Wichita, but it was my only chance to buy the Morgan stallion I'd been after for a while. So I convinced myself that I'd make the trip alone. My wife, however, had other ideas. It seemed that every time I went off by myself I got in trouble. So my wife, my beautiful Doralice, decided that she was going with me. I tried to convince her otherwise, but she was having none of it.

"Bart Maverick," she told me, "I'm not lettin' you out of my sight. I've almost lost you twice when you went out alone, and I'm goin' with you this time."

"Listen, blue-eyes, I can't take the chance of somethin' happening to you."

"No, but it's perfectly fine for me to take that chance if I let you go by yourself."

"Baby, I have to go through Indian territory to get there. And come back. I can't take the chance of losin' you to Indians."

Now Doralice was mad at me, because she saw the backward logic in that. "No, but I'm supposed to take the chance of losin' you to Indians. If you want to go, Mr. Maverick, you're going to take me with you."

"Doralice, listen to me. Do you know what Indians do to blue-eyed, blonde women?"

"Just about the same thing they do to brown-eyed, brown-haired men."

I shook my head. "I wish that was all they did. I don't want you to end up spending the rest of your life as some chief's squaw."

"I'll take that chance. I ain't gonna let you go alone, so figure you're either staying here or I'm goin' with you."

"I'll take Bret."

"You can't take Bret. Ginny and all three of the kids are sick."

Damn. "I'll take Beau."

She shook her head and a small smile played about her mouth. "You can't take Beau. Connie is about to have a baby."

She had me beat, and she knew it. There was no way I was gonna win this argument, so I might as well shut up. "Alright. I don't like it, but I'll let you go with me."

"Good. When do you want to leave?"

"Day after tomorrow."

"That's fine. I'll be ready."

And she was, even though I kept tryin' to talk her out of it. She brought a dress with her, but wore pants and a shirt on the trip up there. I had the route all planned out. Due north to Abilene, then slightly northeast through Indian Territory to Wichita. The trip should take us about six days up there and seven or eight days back, unless I didn't buy the horse. Of course, I'd already made up my mind that if he was still for sale when we got there, I was gonna buy him.

I can't say that I wasn't worried about makin' the trip, because I was. Oh, not for myself, but for Doralice. It scared the life outta me to think about what the Apache's would do to a white woman if they caught her. Especially that white woman. She was still beautiful . . . and any Apache chief would gladly take her as his squaw. Death was preferable.

Actually, it took us six and a half days to get there. I'm sure Doralice was tired of sleepin' on the ground by the time we got to Wichita; I know I certainly was. I got us a hotel room for the night and arranged a hot bath for my lady-love. I figured I could get one when I came back. Then I went lookin' for the Henderson Ranch. I found it about five miles north of town.

Bill Henderson was a few years older than me, and a few pounds heavier. I wouldn't call him a handsome man, but he had pleasant features and seemed like a nice enough fellow. We went to see the stallion and I was suitably impressed. Impressed enough that I made an offer for him right there on the spot. Bill suggested we go inside while we talked; the offer of coffee was made. Coffee seemed like a right good idea, so we went indoors.

We must have sat there for more than an hour, drinking coffee and trying to negotiate a deal for the horse. I'd offer and he'd counter, then I'd come up a little and he'd come down a little until we finally reached an agreement and settled on a price. We were going to stay in Wichita for three days, to give both of us time to rest and relax, so I made arrangements to pick up the stallion on our way out of town.

I rode back to the hotel and found Doralice asleep on the bed. I couldn't say that I blamed her, but I had too much trail dust on me to join her. I made arrangements for a bath and sat downstairs so I wouldn't disturb her while I waited for my bath to be ready. Hot water never felt so good, and I spent almost an hour luxuriating in it. I'd brought clean clothes with me and changed before heading back to our room. She was still asleep. I got undressed again and climbed in bed beside her. As soon as I was there she curled up in my arms. It didn't take long for me to fall asleep with her.

We had a wonderful time in Wichita. We slept late and ate breakfast when we wanted to, we took luxurious naps in the afternoon, and we made love with no fear of being discovered by a child. We walked the town and saw all the sights . . . they had a musical theatre and we attended a performance of The Pirates of Penzance there. There were shops filled with beautiful jewelry and my personal favorite, a bookstore stocked with the most amazing books you've ever seen. I bought a silver bracelet for my wife, and she bought me two Dickens novels that I didn't have. We went to the finest steakhouse in Wichita, and ate steak and drank wine until we were positively giddy.

All too soon, our three-day respite was over. We'd had a wonderful time; it felt good to have no responsibilities to anyone but ourselves. But after three days the excitement had worn thin, and we were both anxious to return to our family and our home. We packed up and started out, stopping first at the Henderson Ranch to pick up the stallion I'd purchased, then cautiously heading south, into Indian Territory.

The first night was quiet and peaceful. I stayed up most of the night, standing guard lest we be attacked, but there was no sign of any Indians. We continued on the next day. We were traveling faster than I expected, but we still weren't out of Indian Territory. I did my best to stay awake but couldn't do that successfully two nights in a row, and I kept dozing off. It was during one of those moments that someone snuck up behind me and introduced something hard and solid to the back of my head. It felt like the butt of a rifle. I don't know how long I was out, but when I woke up I was trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey.

It took me somewhere near an hour to get out of the bindings I'd found myself in, and the first thing I did was get up and look around. The horses were gone but the saddles were still there, leading me to believe it had, indeed, been Indians. But why hadn't they killed me? That was a question that became immediately unimportant when it dawned on me what else what missing . . . my beloved Doralice. My gun was gone, as were the rifles we carried, but they hadn't found my shoulder holster and the Derringer under my coat. They'd made a big mistake when they left me alive . . . no horse, no gun, and they had Doralice. I didn't care if I had to crawl to their camp, I was goin' after my wife.


	2. The Captive

Chapter 2 – The Captive

It was slow going, tracking the Indians on foot, but I was determined and, more than that, both furious and scared to death. Furious that they had my wife, and scared to death what they would do to her. I kept following the ponies tracks, past sunrise, past noon, until the sun began to go down. I was near exhaustion but determined to find my wife. I found a rock overhang that gave me some protection and used my coat as a pillow. I had to get a couple hours sleep or I wouldn't be able to go on. And I had to go on.

I dreamt about those days in Mexico when I saved her from hanging and she saved me from certain death. She'd mellowed over the years, we both had, but I was sure whoever had her had no idea of how fierce she could be. I woke up and knew, one way or the other, that we'd come out of this alive. Whatever we had to do to stay that way.

I got up and put my coat back on. I found the tracks again without too much trouble, and they looked fresh. I couldn't be too far behind them. There were three sets of tracks that told me they had all three of our horses, as well as unshod pony tracks. I stopped for just a minute to listen, and I heard . . . something. I wasn't sure just what it was, but it sounded like voices.

I began a slow jog because it seemed that I was moving faster than the ponies. I could only hope that Doralice was doing everything she could to slow them down. I came over the rise of a small hill and I could actually see them in the distance. It looked like Doralice was riding the Morgan stallion and she was in the middle of the riders, surrounded by what seemed to be Apache braves. I took up the jog once again, and it appeared they were going to make camp just past the clearing I spotted them in. I pushed myself to keep running and I caught up to them within the hour.

When I got to the camp they had a big bonfire going and were roasting a wild hog. I didn't see Doralice anywhere, which meant she was in one of the tipis. I took a guess that it was the one closest to the fire and ran a slit down the backside with my pocketknife. I guessed wrong, the tipi was empty. I took a peek at the tipis around the fire and saw one with an armed brave sitting in front of it. This time I picked the right tipi . . . lying inside, bound and gagged, was Doralice.

I got into the tipi as quietly as possible. There was no need to tell my wife not to talk when I took the gag off; she knew what would happen to both of us if we were caught. Untying her hands and feet, I discovered they'd taken her shoes from her. It was an attempt to keep her from trying to escape. We slipped out the same way I'd come in and made our way to the rope line. Baron was tied next to the Morgan stallion,with my wife's horse Sugar next to that, and while I was untying those three, Doralice untied all the rest. S**h**e pulled herself up on Sugar's neck as I managed to get on Baron, and we hooped and hollered to run the other horses off. Then we both took off at the fastest gallop we could manage.

We ran until the horses couldn't go any further, but it didn't seem like we were being followed. I found us a fairly secluded spot in the hills where we could hide and rest at the same time. Doralice looked at me and grinned. "Took you long enough," she chastised me.

"Leave me a horse the next time, and I'll get there faster," I shot back. We dismounted and I grabbed her and pulled her to me. "You left without me." I wrapped her up in my arms and kissed her passionately. "Don't do that. I wouldn't want to survive without you."

"It wasn't my idea. I woke up with a hand over my mouth and a knife in my ribs. I was afraid they were gonna kill you."

"I'm surprised they didn't. Everything I know about the Apache says that my hair should be decorating somebody's tipi right now. Surely they must have known if they left me alive I'd come after you." I kissed her again and she laid her head against my chest; I looked down at her poor little feet. "They did their best to keep you from runnin' away from 'em. Any idea where they were takin' you?"

"No, but I heard the word 'chief' several times. That would be my guess. Back to their permanent camp."

"Let's go back and collect our saddles and supplies. Then we can head for home. Carefully."

"Good idea. I've got an extra pair of shoes in my saddlebags. I don't wanna ride all the way home barefoot."

"There are worse things, babe. C'mon, let's get out of here." I helped her up on Sugar and grabbed Baron's mane to mount. I had hold of the Morgan's reins as we headed back to our last camp. Everything was still there . . . our saddles, our clothes, our supplies. I saddled our horses while Doralice looked for her shoes. As soon as we were set we left, heading south but trying to stay out of sight of anyone, particularly Indians.

We rode all day, stopping only when the horses needed water. That night we split the lookout duties. It wasn't what I had intended, but there was no arguing with my wife. I made sure my rifle was loaded and positioned myself with my back against a tree, and that's when she made her intentions known. "Wake me about one o'clock."

"Wake you? What for?"

"So I can take my turn standing watch," she informed me.

"I don't want you standing watch," I argued.

"Why not? I'm just as capable of shootin' Indians as you are."

"Darlin', I just got you back. I can't take a chance of losin' you again."

"And do you remember what happened the last time you stayed up all night? At least this way you'd get some sleep."

"Doralice . . . "

"There's no sense arguin' with me, Bart. Either you agree to wake me at one o'clock or I'll take the first watch and you can go to sleep now."

See what I mean? Of course she was right, she was just as capable of shooting Indians as I was. It actually worked out well, each of us got about four hours sleep. Much better than none at all. We rose the next day to a sky that looked like a thunderstorm was coming. I wasn't about to build a fire, so we had hardtack for breakfast. Then we spent the rest of the morning making as much haste as possible.

By noon it was almost as dark as night, and I was lucky enough to find another rock overhang that provided us with some measure of protection. We tried to wait out the rain. The wind was blowing so hard I could barely see anything, and there was no sense in gettin' drowned. It rained like that all afternoon, and the sky didn't begin to clear until almost dark. We decided to try and find shelter for the night, and I stumbled across an old cave while I was scouting the area. It was big enough for me and Doralice, but the horses had to stay outside. We unsaddled them and decided to take a chance on a fire; both of us were dyin' for coffee. Plus it allowed us to eat warm beans rather than cold beans.

The next morning dawned bright and sunny, the first day we'd seen like that in a couple days. We got up early and fixed breakfast, or what passed for breakfast, then got saddled and headed out, going slightly southwest. Another day or so and we'd be clear of Indian Territory. I'm not sure who was more anxious for that, me or Doralice. Just one more day.


	3. Prisoner of Love

Chapter 3 – Prisoner of Love

I was startled awake by a noise that I couldn't identify. It was still dark out; I'd guess it was about four in the morning. Doralice was asleep next to me but she woke as soon as I moved. "What's wrong?" she whispered.

"Nothing, I just heard a noise."

"Let's go," she begged me.

"Alright." I didn't want to stay here any longer than she did. We packed up everything and saddled the horses; in less than ten minutes we were on our way. Sunrise had just broken over the horizon when we heard riders approaching. There was a thick grove of trees up ahead and we tried hiding in there, but it soon became apparent that we'd been spotted by a band of Apaches. We ran for it through the trees and then out into the open, going as fast as we could. It seemed like we didn't stand a chance; they were coming at us from all angles. There were some large rock formations to the southeast of us, so we headed for those. They might be able to provide some kind of shelter. We had two rifles and my Remington, but not a lot of ammunition beyond what was in my gun belt. My beautiful wife looked at the gun belt, apparently counting the bullets, then turned to me and said, "I don't wanna be captured again, Bart."

I stared back at her for the longest time. "Don't think that way, babe." I knew what was in her mind, and I didn't want it to come to that. She turned her head away from me and went back to the task at hand. With the two of us shooting, we held them off for quite a while. There were so many of them it seemed that no matter how many we shot, ten more took their place. They sent wave after wave of braves at us, and the arrows were flying thick and fast. When it finally became obvious that we were gonna lose the battle because we were running out of ammunition, she brought it up again. "Bart, I was serious. I don't wanna be captured again."

I studied my gun belt, layin' on the ground where I'd put it when I took it off. There were three bullets left. "That only leaves us one choice, babe."

Doralice looked at the belt. "I know. But I'd rather die here with you than live in Apache hands."

"I can't do that, Doralice."

"You have to, Bart. If you don't they'll take us prisoner."

'_They'll take you prisoner,'_ I thought. _'Me, they'll kill.' _"I don't care. I can't do what you're askin' me to do."

"Bart, you know what they'll do to me. And they'll do somethin' awful and long and painful to you. You have to do it."

"Baby, I can't shoot you."

"You must. I can't stand the thought of them . . . their hands all over me . . . I'd rather die."

"I don't want to . . . but I know what you're sayin' to me, and if you're sure . . ."

"I am. I love you, Bart. I've loved you since the first day I saw you, down in Mexico. We've had a wonderful life, and I don't regret a moment of it. Do this for me, please."

What they could do to us . . . every brave in camp for her, every torture they could think of for me . . . slowly I came to the conclusion that she was right . . .

I put the last three bullets in the gun and she turned her back to me. I couldn't shoot her with her facing me. I pulled the hammer back and, with tears streaming down my face, I prayed, "Forgive me, God." Before I could pull the trigger I felt a searing pain in my leg and I was jolted backward. I knew that pain, I'd felt it once before. The impact of the arrow pushed my arm up into the air and the gun fired, pointed at nothing but sky. Doralice turned quickly, saw the arrow in my leg and screamed. It was the last thing I remember.

XXXXXXXX

When I came to I was in an unfamiliar position, but I knew what it was. Bret always called it 'Dead Man's Carry', because it was the way you draped a dead man over his saddle. It's extremely uncomfortable when you're alive, especially when your head already hurts and your leg has an arrow in it. To make matters worse, my hands were tied. I lifted my head slightly and tried to find Doralice, but I couldn't look any further than about five feet in front of me and five feet behind me. Once more I wondered why I'd been kept alive. I was in so much pain that I wished I'd been successful in the execution of the murder/suicide that my wife and me had planned.

We must have ridden for about forty-five minutes before we stopped. Now my belly ached from laying in an unfamiliar position. I laid across my horse for another few minutes before I was pulled off and could see somethin' besides Baron's saddle. We were in their camp; it looked like a dozen or more tipis. I finally spotted Doralice . . . she was four or five horses ahead of me. I couldn't see if her hands were tied, but this bunch hadn't put a gag in her mouth. I cleared my throat and she heard me and turned around. She gave me one of those smiles that said everything was gonna be alright, then turned her head back quickly. I was forced to walk, limp rather, to a tipi and shoved roughly inside. I fell, as I couldn't stand on my left leg, the one that had taken the arrow.

I lay there for a few minutes, in awful pain , before I finally began to think clearly. Once again I was asking the question, why? Why was I still alive? Then I had a horrible thought. What if I had been kept alive to use as leverage against Doralice? If that was the case, somehow I had to convince her that my life wasn't worth her 'cooperation.'

I don't know how long I laid in the tipi, I was drifting in and out of consciousness. It could have been five minutes, it could have been hours. The arrow in my leg had been broken off so that I could be thrown over my horse, and I finally remember a woman coming in to look at what was left. She slit my pants leg and poked around the tip of the arrow until I screamed in pain. Then she put some kind of an ointment around the wound and left me there, with my hands still tied. Good thing they were; if they hadn't been I would have found some way to go to my wife.

Some time later the medicine man came into the tipi. He brought another brave with him. After chanting for a few minutes the medicine man left, and the brave began the process of digging the arrowhead out of my leg. It didn't take much for me to pass out, and when I came to the brave was gone and, presumably, so was the arrowhead. All I know is that my leg hurt less than before.

Night fell, and the woman came back in with some food. I don't know what it was and I didn't care, I was starving and would have eaten anything. She looked at my leg and put some more ointment on it, then quickly left when she was finished. Sometime during the night, Doralice came to me, stroking my face and whispering something I didn't understand. I finally gathered my wits about me enough to ask, "Is it really you or am I dreaming?"

"It's me, gamblin' man. How you feelin'?"

I was dumbfounded. My leg was still extremely painful, yet somehow it felt better than before. Whether it was the act of getting the arrowhead out or whatever the ointment was, it really did feel different. "Better," I replied to her. "What are . . . how?"

"Shhh, it'll be alright."

"Doralice . . . how?"

"Never mind that. You go to sleep now and don't worry about anything. I'll be back later."

And before I could blink, she was gone. Had she really been there at all, or was I hallucinating? I wasn't sure, but I felt . . .calmer, more peaceful, and I went to sleep. In the morning the woman was back with food and a hot drink. I wondered again if Doralice had been real or just a figment of my imagination. I didn't know for sure, but I thought she was real. What could she have done to be in my tipi? Did she make some kind of a bargain? Was it already too late to save her from the fate she so feared? Before I could think anymore I fell back asleep, or drifted back into unconsciousness, I wasn't sure which.

Again I dreamt or hallucinated about Mexico. I remembered the beatings she took because she wouldn't sleep with the commandant. She was brave and determined in the face of pain. Could she still be that way in the face of my pain? What was she willing to do to protect me, when she wasn't willing to protect herself? And how could I prevent it from happening?


	4. Something's Wrong

Chapter 4 – Something's Wrong

"I'm tellin' you, Ginny, they're in trouble." Bret was talking to his wife, who was one of the finest Pinkerton Detectives in the Western District. Of course that had been years ago, before she and Bret married and had children. But he knew she was one of the best shots he'd ever seen, and if he was going after his brother and sister-in-law, he needed a partner. He couldn't ask Beau; Connie was due to give birth any day. Ginny had been sick, along with their children, but she'd gotten over it before the kids did.

He didn't want to take her. He wanted her to be safe and protected, like any man wants his wife to be. But at the same time, he would need her expertise. Especially if what he suspected had happened, actually did happen. Bart was supposed to wire Bret as soon as he and Doralice had crossed over into Texas, in the first town they came to, which was Libertyville.

They were overdue, and he'd had no communication from them since they left Wichita. And that was five days ago. That could only mean one of two things – either the Indians had them, or they were . . . dead. He refused to believe that, and the only way to assure that he was right was to go find them. It wasn't the first time he had to 'rescue' his brother, but the last time it happened was several lifetimes ago. And then it had been him and Beau, not him and Ginny. But she was the one that suggested he take her. He wrestled with that idea for almost a full day.

"Ginny, I can't let you go."

"What do you mean you can't let me go? Which one of us worked for Pinkerton for almost twenty years?"

"I know but you were lucky. What if your luck runs out? What if you get hurt? We've got three little children."

"And this is your brother we're talking about. What happens if you're right and the Apaches got Bart and Doralice? You know the kinds of torture they use. If they need rescuing, you need my help. Besides, I'm a better shot than you are."

"Ginny, we've got babies that need lookin' after. I can't let you go."

"Let me go? You can't let me go? I love you, Bret Maverick, but just try and stop me."

"Ginny . . . things are different now. You're a mother. You've been out of Pinkerton for years. I couldn't exist without you."

"That's lovely to hear, Bret, but how are you gonna exist if your brother is killed by the Apaches? Or your sister-in-law? How are you gonna exist then?"

He looked at her then, really looked at her. It was almost as if he was seeing her for the first time in years. Ginny Malone had been Pinkerton's best agent. She was strong, she was tough, she was gentle and kind. She was useful in a difficult situation. He knew there was no use arguing with her. She was right. He needed Ginny Malone with him.

After struggling with it for a long time, he finally gave in to the idea. He knew he didn't have any other choice. It was either protect Ginny or rescue his brother. "Alright," he told her. "You can go."

They continued saddling their mounts and loading the gear they were taking with them. Things were silent between them for a few minutes before Bret spoke again.

"They're in trouble of one kind or another; I can feel it."

"How can you be so sure?" Ginny asked him as they loaded the horses with ammunition.

"Because I know Bart. If he'd crossed that line into Texas he would have wired me, not left me hangin' like this."

"How are we gonna find them?" Once again from Ginny.

"I know the route he was gonna take. My guess is they got caught in Indian Territory close to the border, and that's where they are now."

"What if . . . what if you're wrong, and they're already dead?"

Bret turned to stare at his wife. When he finally answered her it was all he could do to keep from biting her head off. "Then we'll have made the attempt for nothing, won't we?"

"Alright, then let's assume they're alive. We'll find them and we'll bring them back."

"That's right, Captain Malone. Let's get goin'."

They rode the horses hard, knowing that any time wasted could be the difference between life and death. Once they left Texas they had to slow down so that Bret could find the route Bart had taken. Most of the southern road was usually free of the red men; Bret assumed this to be a renegade band of Apaches. If that was true, Lord knows what they were liable to do to his sister-in-law. Or his brother.

On the third day out Bret and Ginny finally found a trace of both the Indians and the people they were seeking. Tracks, faint but still readable. Unshod ponies, a lot of them, and three shod horses. "That's got to be them," Bret told Ginny. "They're alive."

"Because there's no trace of blood, you mean."

"Yeah."

Ginny replied softly, "It doesn't mean they're alive now, Bret. It only means they were alive when they were taken."

He stared and her for a minute and then sighed. "I know. But I'm tryin' . . . I'm tryin' not to think that way."

Ginny never said anything, just kept following the tracks. They found a place that looked like camp had been made there, with an abandoned tipi or two; they even found pieces of rawhide that looked like they had been shrunken by the sun, with what appeared to be blood on them. Bret stared at the rawhide for a long time before discarding it. "They're torturing him. Probably to get Doralice to cooperate and accept the chief willingly. We've gotta hurry, Ginny. I don't know how long either of them can last."

Ginny mounted her horse before speaking. "Then come one, Bret, we have to find them. We can't be too far behind."


	5. Torture

**WARNING: Disturbing content**

Chapter 5 – Torture

They rode for another half day following the tracks, and just as night began to fall they found the camp. Bret swore he heard screaming that sounded like his brother, but it didn't last long enough to let them know where it was coming from. "We gotta get closer, Ginny."

"Look, over on that side . . . there's a tipi with a guard outside. It has to be one or the other of them."

"Let's see if we can get over there."

Ginny and Bret left their horses tied up on a small rise and proceeded to try to get around the back of the tipi with the guard. They got within a few feet when a blood-curdling scream came from a tipi just two down. "That's Bart. They must be torturing him again." Bret identified the sound.

"Then the tipi that's guarded is Doralice. They've got 'em close so she'll hear him and accept their terms; whatever they are."

"To be somebody's squaw, I'm sure. If the chief's not with them, then it'll be the greatest warrior. If we can get her out, maybe they'll stop abusing Bart long enough for us to get to him."

Ginny's head came up and she looked Bret in the eyes. "Or they'll kill him."

"Hmm, you're right. We've got to get in there to take my brother out."

"Either way's dangerous that we'll lose. If Bart's gone they'll have their way with Doralice, whether she cooperates or not."

"So it's Bart's life against Doralice's honor? Then Bart's rescue is priority. Let's go."

Quiet settled over the camp, and the rescue party hoped they'd find Bart alone . . . and alive. Ginny crept as close to the front of the tipi as she dared, and when she saw no one there, she signaled Bret. He slit the back side of the tipi much as Bart had done the first time he and Doralice escaped. Bret found Bart, bare-chested and hands tied behind his back, with burns all over his upper body. One glance downward showed both pant legs slit up to the knee, with his left leg swollen up to twice its normal size. The right leg showed the same kind of burns as those on his chest. Bret checked his brother's neck for a pulse and found one, but it was frustratingly faint. He knew he had to get Bart out of there, and did his best to grab hold of his brother and lift him off the ground.

Bart moaned, and Bret whispered, "Shhh, it's Bret." Ginny pulled the slit in the tipi as big as she could so Bret could get his brother outside. It was a struggle, but he finally managed.

Ginny took one look at Bart and put her hand over her mouth. Bret carried Bart back to where the horses were before laying him down on the bedroll Ginny spread on the ground. "He's alive, barely," Bret told his wife. "Did we bring that ointment Lily Mae makes?"

"Some of it, but not enough to treat all those burns."

"Get it. We'll do the best we can."

Bret was more concerned about the swollen leg than the burns. There was some kind of sore scabbed over and the only way to get to the source of infection was to remove the scab. That was going to be painful, at best. When Ginny returned with Lily Mae's ointment, Bret gave her the instructions he never thought he'd had to give. "Cover his mouth with something. Anything, your hand will work. I've got to rip this scab off, and he's gonna yell."

Ginny did as told, she put her hand over Bart's mouth and pulled another blanket over that. Bret moved to pull the scab as fast as he could; Ginny had done a good job and all that could be heard from his brother was an awful moan. The wound was red and ugly, full of yellowish puss. "Looks like an arrow got him. No idea how long ago. Alright, hang onto him."

Ginny knew what her husband had to do, but she turned her head away. She had no desire to see it. For a man that was barely alive, Bart fought her with every ounce of his strength. He tried to scream under her hand and the blanket, and Ginny could smell the burned flesh. Finally, it seemed that Bart passed out, because all of his attempts stopped. "Unconscious?" Bret asked.

"Evidently. How badly infected is it?"

"It's bad. We gotta get him back to a doctor so he don't lose that leg."

"Bret, we can't leave without Doralice. He'd never forgive either one of us." Ginny had just finished speaking when they heard another kind of scream . . . from Doralice. Ginny looked at her husband. "We gotta go get her."

He nodded his head as he was spreading Lily Mae's ointment sparingly on as many of the burns as it would cover. "I know, and it sounds like they've already started on her. We can't leave him here alone. You gotta stay with him, Ginny,"

"Then what . . . by yourself?"

"I have to. I'll be back as soon as I can." He handed the rest of the small jar of ointment to her and kissed her. "You stay safe."

"You, too."

He nodded again and left as silently as he could. When he got down to where he could see the tipis, he noticed there was no longer a guard on Doralice's. That meant there was someone . . . inside. He heard another scream from his sister-in-law and worked his way around the back of the tipi. When he got close enough he heard noises that he could identify all too well; the sounds of fighting. Slapping and crying and the ripping of fabric; he wasted no time and slit the tent. The warrior was on top of Doralice, and most of her dress was torn away on the top and pushed aside on the bottom. He raised his knife and stabbed the Apache in the back, who went limp immediately. He pushed the man off Doralice and pulled her to her feet. She had black and purple bruises on her face and throat, and bite marks on her breast. Bret took off his coat and wrapped it around her. Big tears ran down her face, which was filled with as much hatred as he had ever seen. When she finally recognized him she gasped. "Shhh," he cautioned her.

"Bart," was all she could whisper.

He put his finger over her lips. "Out already," he whispered back, and he could see the relief flood her face.

"Alive?" she questioned as he got her out of the tipi.

He nodded. And she went with him up the hill to where he'd left Bart and Ginny. "Honey, you bring any clothes with you?

Ginny stared up at Doralice and nodded. "In my saddlebags."

Bret stood between her and Ginny, so she couldn't see Bart. He knew he'd never get her into clothes if she went to his brother's side. He took her over to some bushes, gave her the clothes, and went back to his brother. "She's gonna need you," he told his wife. Ginny nodded and went over to the bushes that Doralice was getting dressed behind.

It was obvious that Bart was still unconscious, and for that he was thankful. They'd just about run out of ointment and there were some burns that he had to leave untreated. "Stay unconscious, little brother. It's the best thing for you." He heard the sound of weeping and knew it was Doralice. He could hear Ginny's voice murmuring what he assumed to be words of comfort, and then more weeping. It got deathly quiet for a few minutes, and then he heard the two women returning. Doralice whimpered when she saw her husband, and she ran to his side. "Don't wake him. I've gotta get him on that horse, and if he's awake it's gonna be painful." He looked over at Ginny. "You two ride double. I'll take Bart in front of me, so I can hold on to him. Let's get out of here."

Ginny nodded and pulled Doralice over to her horse, where she got her sister-in-law in the saddle and got up behind her. Bret picked up his brother and got him on the horse, then held him in place while he mounted behind. They were going to have to go slower than he'd like; the horse couldn't carry the weight and move too fast.

"Let's go. We've gotta get him to Libertyville. They've got a doctor there." He headed his horse south, and the two women followed.


	6. Slow Dancing

Chapter 6 – Slow Dancing

It was slow going, not only when riding double but carrying your unconscious brother in front of you. Bret was thankful that Bart still hadn't come to, and worried at the same time.

"How is he, Bret?" Doralice called from behind.

"Still out," Bret answered. And that was the other reason he was thankful for his brother's unconsciousness. What was he gonna tell Bart when Bart asked how Doralice was? That he didn't know? That she had been violated, but to what extent he wasn't sure? That she was fine? Or just alive?

And then there was the leg. Even though Bret had cauterized it, it was still full of pus and swollen. It looked like he'd taken an arrow to the leg, and that brought its own set of worries. Bret was afraid it was so bad that it would have to be amputated. Lastly, the burns all over his chest and right leg. There was no way of telling how bad they were, or what the Indians had used to burn him with. That alone could cause a whole rash of infections. He just hoped they were in time to prevent any further damage.

He could hear Ginny talking to Doralice, in a calm, slow, steady voice, and he was glad she'd made him bring her. If there was anybody that could make Doralice see the reality of the situation it was Ginny. She could do a much better job than Bret could ever hope to do. His sister-in-law was gonna have to be strong, not only regarding what had happened to her, but because of Bart's condition. Right now Bret didn't know if Bart would live, much less ever be a whole man again.

They rode all night, and most of the following day, before they got to Libertyville. Bart was in and out of consciousness, and when he was awake he was in terrible pain. He begged for Bret to stop, to let him off the horse for just a bit, bit Bret knew if they stopped for any reason other than one necessity, he'd never get Bart back up on the horse again. And at this point that's what Bret was afraid of.

It was a dry and dusty little town, and Bret rode straight to the doctor's office. Ginny helped him get Bart off the horse while Doralice prepared the doctor for what was coming. He was Stanley Wicker, M.D., and when Bret carried Bart inside Dr. Wicker shook his head. "Apaches?"

"Yeah," Bret answered.

"Brother?" The doctor asked.

Bret nodded his head. "Do we still look that much alike?"

"Let's just say there's a family resemblance. How'd he get this way?"

Doralice stepped forward. "We were captured by the Apache. They wanted me to . . . you know. And I wouldn't, willingly. So they began to torture him. I could hear him screaming in pain, doctor . . ." and she broke down in tears again.

Ginny quickly put her arms around Doralice and walked her out into the front office. Bret looked up. "His wife."

"I don't blame her."

"If there's anything you can do for her, doc, please take care of her after him. She was . . . well, violated after we got him out. I found her with half her clothes off and I killed the Apache on top of her. She ain't in good shape."

"No, I would imagine she's not. I'll take a look at her after I treat him. By the way, you have me at a disadvantage. Who are you and who am I treating?"

"Sorry, doc. I'm Bret Maverick, and this is my brother Bart.

"Younger or older?"

"I'm older. Is that important?"

Doctor Wicker shook his head. "You just never know." He had been examining the wound on Bart's left leg. When he finished, he looked up and felt Bart's head and chest. "He's in bad shape. I don't know if I can prevent him from losing that leg."

"Do everything you can to save it, doc. We have a horse ranch down south, and he's gonna need it."

"Did you do that?" Wicker pointed at the cauterization.

"I did."

"Good work. That may have stopped the infection."

"You can't give him aspirin, doc. He's allergic." Bret had to make sure the doctor knew about the aspirin allergy.

"It's way past that stage, anyway. We'll probably have to reopen it and drain the pus."

"And give him laudanum?"

Dr. Wicker stroked his chin. "Maybe. It depends on how his body responds. Any idea what they used to make these burns?"

Bret shook his head. "No, none."

"Alright. Let me take a look at his wife and then we'll start working on that leg. Bring her into my office. I don't want her to see him right now."

Bret went to the door of the exam room and stuck his head out. "Ginny, can you bring Doralice into the doctor's office?"

Ginny nodded and got Doralice up from her seat. "Come on, honey, we're going into another room." Then she walked the traumatized woman into the other room.

The doctor grabbed Bret by the shoulder. "You stay here with him, in case he comes to."

"I was plannin' on it."

The doctor left to treat Doralice and Bret sat down. He took Bart's hand and began talking to him.

Meanwhile, Wicker went to his office and sat next to Doralice. "Mrs. Maverick, I'm Doctor Wicker. I'm going to do everything I can to help your husband. I know what happened to you and I want you to know that it wasn't your fault."

Doralice looked up. There were tears in her eyes. "No?"

"No. You had no control over the situation. I'm going to give you something to help calm your nerves before I go back to your husband. There's a couch in the corner and I want you to lie down and get some sleep. That's the best thing you can do right now."

"But, I . . . "

"No buts. I want you to rest. Here, drink this." He produced a cup with what appeared to be tea in it.

Ginny started to question him and he nodded towards the door to the office. Doralice drank the tea and lay down on the couch. Closing her eyes, in just a few minutes she was asleep. The doctor quietly shut the door behind him so he could talk to Ginny in the front hall.

"I thought you were going to give her something to calm her, doctor. Wasn't that just tea?"

"No, Mrs. Maverick, it was half laudanum, half tea. That combination seems to work better than just straight laudanum. You can go back in and stay with her now, in case she should wake. I'm going to see what I can do about her husband's leg and it could get a little loud."

"Thank you, doctor. She was pretty distraught when she saw him."

"I would imagine so. If she wakes up see if you can get her to go back to sleep. If you can't, come get me."

Doctor Wicker hurried back to the exam room. Bret looked up immediately. "He hasn't woken up, doc."

"That's good, Mr. Maverick. I'll need you to hold his legs still. I'm going to get as much pus out as I can."

Bret did as asked while the doctor worked on Bart's leg. Midway through the procedure Bart began to moan and tried to thrash about. The doctor kept working until Bart began to scream in pain. "I've done as much as I can for right now. We may have to do it again tomorrow or the next day. Now, let me put something on these burns."

He applied an ointment on each of the burns that looked very much like Lily Mae's home remedy. When he was finished he mixed a concoction like what he had given Doralice, only stronger. "Let's see if we can get this down him, Mr. Maverick."

Bret raised Bart's head and began to talk to him. "You gotta drink this, little brother. It's good for you. Come on, try. It's just tea."

Doctor Wicker began cleaning up as Bret efforts were successful, for the most part. "That should help with the pain. I want to keep him here for twenty-four hours, in case we have to drain that leg again, but after that you need to move him to the hotel. Tell them I sent you. I'll need your help again later when I want him to drink some more. Where will you be?"

Bret looked up with a crooked smile on his face. "Right here, Doc."


	7. The Sounds of Silence

Chapter 7 – The Sounds of Silence

It started the next morning. The torture, I mean. Why they'd waited two days I have no idea. There was no food or water; no hot beverage. Two warriors came in and dragged me out into the sunlight, ripped off my shirt and staked me out like a plucked chicken. My arms were stretched above my head and tied with wet rawhide strips; my legs were treated the same. It wasn't long before I became so parched I would have given anything for a drink.

The rawhide shrunk as it dried and cut into my flesh. That was the idea, of course. I wasn't about to yell from the pain, or beg for water. If Doralice heard me she'd know what they were doin' to me, and she wouldn't refuse their demands, whatever they were. I laid there all day and all night, shivering in the nighttime air from the cold, and the next day was a repeat of the first one. They untied me that night and, though I could barely walk, put me up on a horse. The entire camp moved, riding all night and not stopping until the next morning.

This time they tried something else. A brave would bring in an arrowhead that had been heated to red-hot in the fire and burn me with it. I held out for one burn, but the next one hurt so bad that I cried out. The third one was worse than the first two, and I screamed in pain. After that I lost count. At some point they tied my hands behind my back, which made it painful just to lie there. I don't know how long they kept it up. When they ran out of unsinged flesh on my chest they slit my right pant leg and started on that leg. During the day I would pass out, and if they found me unconscious they would shake me awake so I would feel the pain and scream. I kept prayin' that Doralice was safe.

I finally was left alone until I felt somebody tryin' to pick me up. I didn't know who or what it was and I moaned. That's when I heard, "Shhh, it's Bret." I thought I was hallucinating, but there was no mistaking the feel of the hands that lifted me off the ground. They were strong but gentle, not at all the way the Apache hands felt on me. It seemed I was being carried hurriedly across open ground, and then I was carefully laid on something soft between me and the earth. A cool lotion of some kind was applied to my burns, but suddenly it stopped and soft female hands covered my mouth.

A blanket was pressed firmly over my face and then the worst pain I've ever felt in my life burned my left leg raw. I tried to get away from it, to scream out in pain, but the hands and the blanket did the job. Soon I passed out and didn't wake until sometime after daylight.

I was on a horse, and my brother was ridin' behind me, just like we did when we were little. I begged him to stop and let me off, but he wouldn't. I don't know how long we were on the horse . . . when it stopped I could feel myself being lifted off the horse and carried somewhere. I didn't know where I was, but for a moment I heard my wife's voice, and I instinctively knew we were safe. I passed out again.

Something hurt terribly, and it woke me. I tried to get away from it but couldn't move and finally screamed in agony. Suddenly the pain stopped, and I could feel somebody lift my head and press a cup to my lips. I drank it, or most of it, and fell into a deep sleep. I imagined my brother talkin' to me, and I thought I felt him hold my hand. I know I was hallucinating, but these were good hallucinations, and I didn't fight them.

1


	8. The Long and Winding Road

Chapter 8 – The Long and Winding Road

Ginny never left Doralice's side until Doctor Wicker came in to check on her. Then she took a few minutes to go to her husband, who was sitting in the exam room with his brother. "I don't suppose I could get you to go eat," she said to him, full well knowing the answer before she even asked the question.

"No," came the expected reply.

"Can I go get you something?"

"Coffee," was Bret's answer.

Ginny nodded. She stopped in the office long enough to ask Doctor Wicker where she could get coffee and if he wanted any. "Why yes, thank you. Nobody ever asks me; you don't know how much I appreciate it. I take it black, thank you."

Ginny hurried to the little café he told her about and got three cups of coffee in returnable mugs. She left the coffee for the doctor with him and went to see Bret. "Thanks, babe," he told her as he accepted the cup, and kissed her tenderly. "What would I do without you?"

"I don't know. Let's never find out. Has Bart come to yet?"

"No, not since doc cleaned out his leg. How's Doralice?"

"Sleeping, thank God." They kissed again and she promised to be back later.

The doctor came back in just a few minutes. "Any change?" He asked.

"Nope."

It went on like that the rest of the day. Every couple of hours Doc Wicker would go to see how Doralice was doing and Ginny would go get coffee. The third time she went to the café the waitress looked at her and said, "I know. Three black coffees in returnable cups."

"Yes, ma'am," Ginny answered, and carried the coffees back across the street. Doc only had one other patient show up today and they were quickly treated and sent home. Twice more the doctor got Bart to take laudanum disguised in tea, but Bart was restless and began running a fever. He cried out for Doralice but was still unconscious.

Bret fell asleep in the chair and Doc didn't have the heart to wake him. Bart's fever worsened, going up three degrees that night. Wither wiped him down with cool cloths, but they didn't seem to be making much difference. Several of the burns on his chest turned red and angry, and Doc feared infection. When Bret woke he reached over and touched his brother's forehead and he could feel the heat coming off his chest. "What now, Doc?"

"Now, Mr. Maverick, we wait. It looks like we'll have to open that leg up again and drain it, but not until morning."

"I'll be ready when you are, Doc."

"Do you mind if I walk the two Mrs. Mavericks up the street and check them into the hotel? That way they can both get some sleep, and I can lie down on my couch."

"Go ahead, Doc. I'll be right here when you get back."

Wicker was back in twenty minutes. "They're in room two twenty-five. Your wife was about to fall asleep standing up. The other Mrs. Maverick seems to be doing better. She's calmer, and we actually held a conversation. A short one, but a conversation. She knows it's touch and go with her husband."

"Thank you, Doctor. And please call me Bret. My wife is Ginny and Bart's is Doralice."

"Doralice? What a lovely and unusual name."

Bart reacted when the doctor said Doralice's name. He got restless and thrashed around for a few minutes, with Bret finally standing and whispering something to him. Bart settled down quickly after that.

"What did you say to him?" The doctor asked.

"I told him Doralice was safe."

"Ah, he must love her very much."

"He does. He was willing to give his life – twice – to save hers."

"I hope we can bring him through this and reunite them."

"So do I, Doc. So do I."

XXXXXXXX

Doc Wicker came back to the exam room somewhere around eight o'clock. "How did he do last night?"

Bret shook his head. "Not real well, Doc. He was restless all night and mumbling things I couldn't understand."

"Let's take a look at that leg." Wicker pulled the blanket back and the smell was almost overpowering. "It's getting worse, I'm afraid. Let's try to get the rest of the pus out, and then I'm going to re-cauterize it. It's going to be rough on him, Bret, and he might not make it. That poison is flooding his system and we have to stop it."

"Let's not wait any longer, Doc. I can't lose my brother."

Wicker nodded and began to get everything ready for the procedure. When he was finished he turned his attention to Bret. "It's going to be extremely painful, and you have to hold him still, Bret. This may be our only chance to save his leg; for that matter, it might be our only chance to save him. Are you ready?"

"Yeah, Doc, go ahead."

As soon as the doctor began, Bart began whimpering and trying to get away from both men. When the cauterization started Bart was screaming and trying to get off the table. It took every ounce of strength that Bret had to hold his brother still, and the smell of burning flesh sickened him, mainly because he knew whose flesh was burning. Finally, Bart passed out and the doctor finished the procedure. "I think I got it all."

Bret smiled that little, sick smile, and then did everything he could to avoid vomiting, but it was no good. He made a run for the back door and when Doc stuck his head out Bret was still on his knees. "Come on back in. I've got something that will help."

Doc made some mint tea and gave it to Bret. "That should help."

"I didn't have that reaction when I cauterized it the first time. Why now, Doc?"

"Probably a lot of reasons, Bret. You were too busy trying to cauterize the wound and you didn't have time to think. Plus I doubt if the smell was that bad."

"What do we do now, Doc?"

"The hardest thing that the human being can do. We wait."


	9. Till We Meet Again

Chapter 9 – Till We Meet Again

Bret sat with his brother all day, and listened to Bart mumble and moan. Any time he tried to move the pain got worse, and he would cry out in agony. He couldn't imagine Bart tolerating the pain of the burns that covered most of his body until his thoughts drifted to the lovely Doralice. When Bart finally fell in love, really fell in love, he didn't do it halfway. He worshipped the ground his blue-eyes walked on. He almost died getting her out of Mexico all those years ago when she was due to be hanged, and recently he was willing to take her place on the gallows when the Medina family tried to exact their revenge.

He knew what Bart was trying to prevent – the violation of his wife by the Apache Indians. From the way things looked when he finally found Doralice, all of Bart's pain and suffering appeared to be for naught. And now he could lose his leg, or his life if the infection that raged in his extremity continued to spread throughout his body. "Little Brother, what am I gonna do if I lose you? You've always been there and I can't imagine life without you. If you don't make it, Doralice will be destroyed. And those babies! They adore their Daddy. I don't know what would happen to them without you."

Bret looked up when he heard Bart murmuring something he recognized. "Bret . . . take care of . . . my girl. Ohhhhhhhhhhhh . . . oh God, it hurts so bad. Please . . . take it off . . .why don't they take it off? I can't . . . stand it. Bret . . . oh Bret . . . take the leg . . . please, please, please. Tell blue-eyes . . . I'm sorry. I couldn't . . . I couldn't stand it . . . ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh my God. It hurts . . . it hurts. Please make it . . . make it stop." Bart moaned and tried to move his leg, then screamed in pain when it did move.

Bret reached up and took Bart's hand, talking to him in a soft voice. "Can't take the leg, son. You need it. And your beautiful wife knows you did everything you could to protect her. She loves you, and she just wants you to get well. And me . . . I love you, too. I don't wanna be here if you go . . . so you gotta stay and fight. Please fight. Fight for Pappy, and Maudie, and little Tim. And me. Fight for me."

Bret felt Bart tremble, and then there was an ever so slight squeeze of Bret's hand. "That's a boy. Don't quit on me. I love you, Brother Bart. There's a lotta people out here that love you."

He heard the door open, and he felt Ginny's soft hands on his shoulders. "Is he talkin' back yet?"

Bret shook his head. "No, but he was talking. Rambling, actually. But I could understand what he was sayin.''

Ginny smelled the air in the room and made a face. "Is that from his leg?"

"Yeah. Doc cleaned it out and then cauterized it again."

She began to rub his shoulders as he leaned over his brother. His muscles were tight, she could feel it, and she was surprised that he was awake. "Did you get any sleep?"

"Some. It's hard to sleep in here."

"Why don't you go lay on the couch in Doc Wicker's office? I'll sit here with him. Doralice should be along shortly, and she wants to sit with him. I think that'll help a lot, don't you?"

Bret nodded and yawned. "I agree." He yawned again and rubbed his eyes. "Alright, I'll go lie down for a while. Just keep talkin' to him. I think it helps to know one of us is here."

"You go take care of yourself, big man. I need you all in one piece. I won't leave him, I promise."

Bret got up, reluctantly, and headed for the office door. He turned around suddenly and kissed Ginny, then went back for the door. It closed quietly behind him and Ginny took his place in the chair. She reached out and took Bart's hand, and she heard him sigh before settling back down. She sat with him for over an hour, until she heard the office door open. It was Doralice.

"How's he doing?" were the first word out of Doralice's mouth when she came in.

"Not much change," Ginny offered. "Doc Wicker cleaned the arrow wound out again and applied some ointment to the burns. They seem to be doing better, but that leg is still trouble."

"I knew it would be, as soon as I saw him get hit. Is he gonna lose it, Ginny?"

"I don't know, Doralice. You need to ask Doctor Wicker that. Has he cleared you to be in here?"

"No, I haven't seen him yet. I'll go get him; then I can get Bart's chances from the horse's mouth."

Doralice wasn't gone five minutes, and she brought the doctor back with her. "Ginny, I think it's alright for Doralice to sit with her husband. She seems to be doing better."

With that pronouncement, Doralice had a question for the doctor. "Is he gonna lose that leg, Doctor?"

"I honestly don't know. It all depends on what the infection does. If it continues like it is now we'll have no choice but to amputate. If we can get the fever down, the infection will settle down and he can probably keep it."

The look Doralice fixed the doctor with could only be described as desperate. "I'm sure my brother-in-law told you that we have a horse ranch. He needs that leg, Doctor."

"I'm well aware of that, Mrs. Maverick. But I'm not a fortune teller, and I truly don't know what's in the cards for your husband."

Doralice and Ginny did their best to keep from laughing, after the doctor's reference to 'the cards.' When they could contain their laughter no longer, Ginny explained. "Our husbands were both poker players before they were ranchers, Doctor. That's why your reference was so . . . funny."

Doc Wicker nodded his head and smiled. "Yes, it was a rather unfortunate choice of words. But in all honesty, I can't predict what will happen with the infection. All we can do is try to keep the fever down and pray."

He turned towards the work table and began to mix another cup of tea/laudanum concoction. When it was ready he returned to the man on the exam table. "Mrs. Maverick, we need to get this down him. If I lift his head, please see what you can do."

Doralice took the cup and waited until the doctor raised Bart's head, and then she spoke to him while giving him the mixture to drink. "Come on, Bart, honey, you need to drink this. It's good for your leg. Take it for me, now, that's it. Drink it all down, now. Good job, honey." Doralice handed the now empty cup back to Dr. Wicker.

"I'm certain that he hears you. He responds better to you than to any of the rest of us. He knows it's you. It would be really helpful if you could be here every four hours or so. That way we could get more down him."

"Anything for him, Doctor. I'll be here whenever you need me."

Bart began mumbling again. "The leg . . . Doc take . . . the leg. Shoulda taken it off . . . the first time. Saw the lady . . . in red. The leg . . . healed. Doralice . . . baby where . . . are you? Did it work? Did I save you? Tell me . . . not in vain. Blue-eyes . . . oh my blue-eyes . . . love you . . . so much. Couldn't stand it if . . . they hurt you . . . Doralice . . . Doralice . . .Doralice . . ." And then he began to cry.

Doralice whispered to him, "I'm here, Bart. They didn't hurt me. You saved me. And the doctor's not gonna amputate your leg. I love you, gamblin' man. I love you." And with that she put her head down and their tears mingled together.


	10. I've Seen Him Dead Before

Chapter 10 – I've Seen Him Dead Before

Doralice was there every four hours to give Bart the medicine Wicker wanted him to take. Bart didn't like it; sometimes he fought it, but all it took was a few words and Doralice could persuade him to swallow it.

Bret slept most of the day, and Ginny did nothing to disturb him. She wanted him to get as much rest as possible. Once he woke up she knew she wouldn't be able to get him back to sleep. She was sitting with Bart around four o'clock when Bret came back into the room. "Why'd you let me sleep so long?" he questioned, but she just smiled.

"Because you needed the sleep, and he's been quiet all day."

"Really? That's good news, ain't it?"

His wife nodded. "Doctor Wicker seems to think so. Doralice has been coming in every four hours to give Bart medicine."

"And he's been drinkin' it?"

"Yes, sir. She's got the magic touch."

His face filled with concern. "How's she doin'?"

Just then Doralice entered the exam room. "You look good, woman. How do you feel?"

"To tell you the truth, Bret, I'd feel a lot better if Bart would wake up."

"You gotta give him time, honey. He will."

She wasn't sure she believed him. "I sure hope you're right. I'd be less worried if he would."

Doc Wicker arrived and prepared Bart's medicine. He gave it to Doralice and she got him to drink it all down. After she left the doctor shook his head, a concerned look on his face. "I'm worried about her. She's been traumatized, but she's showing no signs of it."

"That's good, isn't it, Doctor?" Bret asked.

"Not really. I'd feel better if she didn't look so well."

"What can we do for her?"

"Nothing, I'm afraid. She's going to have to admit what really happened, and face up to it. Right now she's in denial."

"Do you think that will change when Bart's in the clear?" Ginny wondered.

"I think that would go a long way towards helping her."

"And if he doesn't get better?"

"I don't think she will either."

Husband and wife sat in Bart's room for a long time, not talking. Finally, Ginny spoke up. "So her recovery depends on his."

"Sounds that way."

"Have you ever seen him this bad?"

Bret knew what he was about to say would probably shock her, but it was the God's honest truth. "Honey, I've seen him dead before."

"You . . . what?!"

"You heard me right. I've seen him dead." So Bret told her the story of Ally O'Rourke and Eamon Garrity, and how Bart got shot in a gunfight that was forced on him, then insisted on riding back to Little Bend when he was injured. By the time they got home Bart's shoulder was infected, and he was out of his mind with pain. His fever was out of control like it was now, and he started hallucinating a whole world on Valpariso Road in Las Cruces. He got worse and worse and finally he just stopped breathin'. Simon pronounced him dead, and he was. "Then for some reason he started breathin' again, and he came back to us. So when I say I've seen him dead, I've really seen him dead."

"Good God."

"That's who I attribute it to, yes. There was no reason for him to be alive . . . but there was no reason for him to be dead, either."

"And how does this compare?"

"I'm not real sure. That was all so long ago, and seemed so . . . unreal. There ain't nothin' unreal about this." Bret could see that she was turning something over in her mind. "Bret . . . if we lose him . . .she's not gonna be able to take care of those kids. Belle and Maudie and Beau will be alright, but that leaves Bret and LIly Beth and Tim. Have you ever talked to your brother about . . . you know, what to do with the little ones?"

"No."

"We better think about it. It's a real possibility."

"We'll take 'em."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Ginny, I'm sure. Those are my nephews and my niece. They'd come live with us."

"And how would you run the ranch by yourself?"

"Ginny, I don't wanna talk about this."

"Honey, don't you think you better have a plan . . . "

Bret stood up and walked to the far side of the room. "No. Having a plan means I think he's gonna die. I don't think that, so I don't need a plan. I know you're tryin' to be practical and all, but I don't wanna talk about it. Understand? I don't wanna talk about it."

"Bret . . ."

He glared at her and walked to the door. He wasn't sure he'd ever been this mad at her before. e loved her; oh yes, he loved her. He He loved her; oh yes, he loved her. But he didn't want to talk about the things she wanted to talk about. The only thing that made sense to him was to leave, and that's what he did. He took a walk down the boardwalk of the town while he tried to cool off. Why couldn't she understand that he didn't want to discuss those things right now? Somehow he felt as if he was giving up on Bart if he talked about 'what they would do if.' He didn't want to give up on his brother.

Finally, he returned to the Doctor's office. This was one time she'd just have to understand.


	11. Partners

Chapter 11 – Partners

Ginny was staring out the window when Bret returned from his walk. She looked forlorn and about as unhappy as he'd ever seen her. She sat down and didn't speak, waiting to hear what her husband had to say. He'd never walked out on her before, and she could only assume he was angry.

"Ginny, I'm sorry I left, but if I'd stayed I would have pitched a fit, and you didn't deserve that." Bret sat down next to her and took her hand. "You have to understand . . . I've been through so many things with Bart. Times he was supposed to die. Times when he did die. Times when the doctor wouldn't give a plug nickel for his chances to live. He's been shot and stabbed and near beaten to death . . . and he's always pulled through. I got no reason to believe the same thing won't happen this time. I know you're tryin' to have a plan just in case . . . but I can't think that way. When I told you I didn't wanna talk about it, I meant that I didn't wanna talk about it. If he dies, then I'll sit down and talk about what we're gonna do. But unless that happens . . . I'm not gonna talk about it."

Ginny sat stock still and held on to Bret's hand tightly. "I'm sorry, Bret, that I pushed you to discuss something you didn't want to talk about. You and I are different kinds of people, and I understand that. Given your personal history with your brother, it makes perfect sense that you wouldn't want to discuss plans for a future that probably won't happen. I won't push you anymore, and I hope that we don't have to discuss that kind of a future. I hope you're not mad at me."

He put his arms around her and held her close. "Of course I'm not mad at you, baby. I just wanted you to understand why I didn't wanna talk about it."

"I do. And I won't bring it up again unless . . . well, I won't bring it up again."

"Thank you. How's he doin'?"

"Seems to be doing better. He's been quiet all day. Doralice was thrilled to hear that. And have you noticed? That nasty smell is Wicker thinks he's improving."

"That would be another in a long string of miracles."

"Wouldn't it, though? For both of them."

The doctor chose just then to walk into the office. "How's our boy?"

"Been real quiet today, Doctor. And do you notice what we noticed?"

The Doctor took a minute and sniffed the air. "We seem to be missing a smell."

"That's good, ain't it, Doc?"

"It is good indeed, Mr. Maverick.

"Now what we need is for him . . ."

"To be waking up."

Doralice came through the door just as Doc Wicker was making the latest tea/laudanum concoction. "Any change?" she asked.

"He's quiet," Ginny told her.

"That's good. Come on, baby, let's see if you'll take this." Bret raised Bart's head and Doralice held the cup up for him to swallow the liquid.

"Yuck."

"Did you hear that?" Doralice asked excitedly.

"Yeah. He definitely said somethin'," Bret answered. "Bart, can you hear me?"

There was no further sound from the injured man. Doralice's face fell. "Come on, gamblin' man. Come back to me."

Much as she wanted to hear from him, there was no further sound from Bart the rest of the day. Bret and Ginny and Doralice took turns sitting with him; they even managed to get Doralice to eat something right around supper time. When she came back to stay with her husband she began talking to him again, and he seemed to respond to her voice. "Hey, baby , it's Doralice. Can you wake up for me? Come on, gamblin' man, it's time to wake up. I need you to come back to me."

She thought she heard a soft moan from her husband, and continued talking to him. "I love you, baby, and I need you to wake up. It's Doralice . . . can you hear me?"

Another moan, this time louder, followed by a soft spoken word, "Dora . . . "

"That's it, Doralice. Come on, you can say it, Doralice. Try for me."

This time it was distinct and complete. "Doralice."

"That's it. Say it once more."

"Doralice."

"Now, Bart, open your eyes. Come on, baby, open your eyes." That was the last thing in the world she expected, but he did it, and she was looking into those beautiful brown eyes of his. They were a little foggy, but they were open. "Do you know who I am?"

"Dora . . . Doralice."

"You're safe, Bart. We're in a doctor's office in Libertyville. Do you understand what I'm tellin ' you? You're safe."

"Safe." The word was whispered but clear.

She was so happy that she smothered his face in kisses. He made a sound and she finally stopped.

"Bart."

"Hmm?"

"Can you look at me?"

Ever so slowly he turned his head and looked at her. "Ba . . . by."

Before she could say anything else, the office door opened and Doc Wicker entered. "Doc. "

The doctor heard the change in her voice and swiftly turned his head. "Mrs. Maverick?"

"He's awake, Doc. His eyes are open."

"Has he spoken?"

"Sort of. He's said my name twice and the word 'safe.' But that's all so far."

Wicker hurried around to the other side of the exam table, and saw exactly what Doralice saw . . . brown eyes, open and staring at his wife. "Mr. Maverick, I'm Doctor Wicker. How does your leg feel?"

"Hurts."

"I'm going to fix some medicine for you. I need you to drink it all. Understand me?"

"Yeah."

Once again the doctor mixed the laudanum and tea, then handed the cup to Doralice. "See if you can get this down him."

Doralice took it, then proceeded to convince her husband to drink it all. "What . . . ?" he asked when he was finished.

"It was laudanum and tea," she answered.

"Oh."

The exam room door opened once more and Bret came in. He saw Bart's eyes open and let out a big "Whoop-de-doo!"

"Bret?"

"Yes, sir, I am Bret." Turning to Doralice, he asked, "When did he wake up?"

"Just a few minutes ago."

"Well, son, it's nice to have you back among the living. How's your leg feel?"

"Hurts."

"You're alive, Bart. We thought we'd lost you."

"Had to . . . save . . . Doralice."

His wife stroked his face and kissed him. "You did, my love. You did."

Bart's eyes began to close and Doc Wicker looked at Doralice. "It's the medicine. The best thing for him is sleep. I want to examine his leg, and I don't need him awake while I'm doing it."

In just a minute Bart was out again. The doctor took a look at his leg and gave his wife and brother good news. "It's begun to scab over. I think I can safely say he's gonna keep the leg."

"Oh, thank God."

"I got a better one. Thank you, Doc," Bret told the doctor.

"You got him here. If you'd waited any longer. . . "

Bret grabbed Wicker's hand and gave it a vigorous shake. "We make good partners, Doc."


	12. It's Getting Better All the Time

Chapter 12 – It's Getting Better All the Time

A day passed, and then another, and Bart became more coherent all the time. Doc kept mixing the tea/laudanum concoction and Doralice kept helping Bart drink it. By the third day after he'd first woken, he was eating solid food. Small bits of it at a time, but solid food.

Bret wanted to talk to Doralice about the attack he'd witnessed, but Doc and Ginny thought it might be better if Ginny handled it. Bret was just as happy to sit this one out. He stayed with his brother while the women remained in the hotel room. It wasn't an easy topic to bring up.

"Doralice, now that Bart's on the road to recovery, I think we should work on your recovery."

"Whatever do you mean, Ginny? I'm perfectly fine," Doralice tried to sound as casual as she knew how.

"Sweetie, you're not fine. Do you remember who found you?"

"Uh, Bret, I think." Doralice clenched and unclenched her hands, as if she was nervous.

Ginny nodded. "And do you remember the state he found you in?"

"I was . . . I was . . . fine." She tried to look Ginny in the eyes but couldn't manage it.

Ginny knew there was more to come and just kept after her. "Were you, Doralice? Were you?"'

"I, uh . . . I was . . .I, uh, fine. I was fine."

"Oh, honey, you weren't fine." The sound of Ginny's voice was so sad.

Doralice was insistent. "Yes, I . . . I was. I was."

"Were you by yourself?"

"I, uh, I was, uh, no, I wasn't alone."

"Who was with you?" Ginny already knew the answer, but asked the question anyway. Doralice had to face what had really happened.

"Bret."

Ginny sighed deeply. "Besides Bret."

"Just uh, just Bret." Doralice sounded more and more distressed as Ginny got closer to the truth.

"No, Doralice. It wasn't just Bret, was it?"

"Yes, Bret. Just Bret."

"No, honey, there was someone else there." She hated doing this, but there was no other way but to force the truth out of her friend.

"No, just Bret. Just me and Bret."

"Doralice, there was someone else there with you."

"It was . . . it was . . . oh, God. It was . . . an Apache." Doralice was on the verge of breaking down; Ginny could feel it.

"And where was he honey?"

"He was . . . he was . . . on . . . he was on . . . "

"He was lying on you, wasn't he?"

Doralice sobbed and threw herself into Ginny's arms. "Yes! Yes! YES!"

"Honey, he ripped the top of your dress off, didn't he?" Ginny hated having to do this, but Doctor Wicker believed that Doralice could never get past what had happened if she didn't face up to it.

Doralice cried for almost five minutes before she answered. "Yes."

"What else did he do to you?"

"He tried . . . he tried . . . he tried to take me."

"He tried, or he did?"

"No, Bret . . . Bret stopped him."

"Are you sure?"

Doralice nodded. The crying stopped. "Yes, I'm sure."

Whether Doralice was telling the truth or not, Ginny could never be sure. Perhaps Doralice knew that Bart needed to believe his suffering prevented her from being raped. Perhaps it had. Doralice insisted to the day she died the only thing that saved her from the Apaches was Bart's refusal to give in to the pain and suffering he endured. He bought her enough time for Bret and Ginny to arrive.

XXXXXXXX

I remember terrible pain; Bret tells me that I screamed and cried and tried to get off the table. I don't remember much of that. I sort of heard Bret saying something to me, but what it was I'm not sure. Maybe 'I love you.'

At some point I became aware of Doralice, although I wasn't sure she was real. The Doralice I remember kept having me drink some kind of liquid concoction, and finally she persuaded me to speak her name. It was one of the hardest things I've ever done. Then, finally, I remember her telling me I was safe. She made me repeat the word, and I eventually believed it. Safe. No more pain, no more torture. And if I was safe, that meant she was, too.

It took a long time for my leg to begin healing. Doc Wicker kept making his potions and Doralice kept giving them to me; I've tasted worse. I began eating, a little at a time, but the best medicine I got was seeing Doralice's smiling face and knowing that I'd saved her from . . . anything further by the Apaches. She's the most precious thing in the world to me. Anything I went through was worth it, as long as I kept her safe.

XXXXXXXX

It was almost two weeks before Bart's leg and the burns he'd suffered had healed enough for him to begin the journey home. Bret bought a wagon and they made a bed in the back; Doralice rode home with her husband's head in her lap. They must have been a sight, with two horses pulling the rig and three saddle horses and a Morgan stallion hitched behind it.

Ginny and Doralice never spoke about their conversation, or what had actually happened, again. Everyone at the ranch was thankful that Bart and Doralice had gotten home, thanks to Bret and Ginny, and that Bart hadn't lost his leg. And the very first night that the Mavericks were home, Doralice slept soundly in her husband's arms.

The End


End file.
